


The House on the Hill

by officialoperaghost



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialoperaghost/pseuds/officialoperaghost
Summary: Christine Daaé accepts a job as a maid in a large home in the south of France, inhabited by the kindly Nadir Khan and the eccentric home-owner. Struggling with the burden of her new job as well as learning an entirely new language and the ever tightening pressure from an employer who does not want her there, Christine is pushed to her wit's end. However, the death of her father has made her fiercely independent and she is not afraid to lash back where no one previously dared to. Can the mutual apprehension between the strange masked man and the Swedish girl dissolve into friendship?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains some French. Although I am a student, I will probably make mistakes. If you see any let me know and I will rectify them!

Other than the rasp of pages being turned and the whistle of the wind through the ajar window, the carriage was silent. Not many people travelled at this time of year so Christine had the carriage to herself, not that she would have noticed; she was so consumed in her book that she didn’t even notice how close she was getting to her destination until she went to turn the page and saw her fingers had left faint grease marks on the paper. The wind whistled, bringing the tell-tale smell of salt and sea. Sliding a bookmark onto her page, she dropped the book onto her lap and wrangled her curls into a ponytail before the building humidity would turn them into an untameable cloud. She licked her lips and wiped her clammy hands on her pants. Turning her gaze out of the window, she saw the strip of turquoise in the distance, the rocky cliff-faces she had seen in the pictures on the internet. A swell of nerves rose in her and she absentmindedly brought her thumb to her mouth to gnaw on the skin around her nail, eyes flickering wildly over the landscape as the train rushed past.

The carriage door slid open. The conductor wandered past for the third time, eyeing her scrupulously. She had shown her ticket to him in the first leg of the journey, speaking broken French when he questioned her, barely explaining why it was a single and not a return. She had one bag. He glanced at her book as he went by. It was written in a language he didn’t understand - German, maybe. She took her hand from her mouth to smile at him but he didn’t bother to return it.  
When she heard the carriage door at the other end slide closed she turned to the back of the book to a piece of paper, folded neatly into quarters but well thumbed and a little damp. She smoothed out the worst of the creases as best she could and read over it again, and then again. She was on her way but she was still wary that this wasn’t real. It was surely a dream. She didn’t want to wake up just yet.

Her broken French proved enough for her to navigate her way through the small streets to the place she was meant to be at, but still she took her time, struck dumb by how beautiful the town was. Where Marseilles was pretty, this nowhere town was something out of a picture book. Small cobblestone streets wound through the labyrinth-like town, edged with cream buildings and lantern street lights. Some buildings were covered in lush creeping ivy and purple flowers spilled out of hanging baskets and window boxes everywhere she turned. The air was warm but every so often the breeze of the sea would blow through bringing a welcome chill to burned skin. Everyone who walked by smiled at her. She stopped once to check a map pinned next to a general goods store, scrutinising the address on the piece of paper against the tangle of roads, then set her on her way.

The house had been described as large but she hadn’t been able to put it into perspective in her mind. It was the same cream colour as the rest of the town, and she spotted it immediately on the green hill it sat on. She gazed at it as she travelled up the small footpath that lead to its expansive front garden; it was a little wider than three regular houses squished together, and three stories high from what she could see. The front garden was disappointingly bare. It needed weeding, and the shrubs that lined the wrought iron fence could have done with pruning back into shape. The sea breeze swept over her as she stood at the front door. She turned and looked; up on this hill, she could see the expanse of the ocean as it spanned into the horizon and beyond. She shouldered her bag and lifted the brass knocker and rapped it on the wooden door.

Inside, there was a commotion, and a stifled voice that grew near and fell away. The door opened and there stood a man, his skin dark, white teeth gleaming under his facial hair. He was wearing a white linen shirt, his chest hair poking out from the several buttons he had undone, and some grey pants. He pushed his dark brown hair back with his hand and grinned down at her. Her trepidation melted away and she smiled back at him.

“Vous êtes mademoiselle Daaé, ouais?”

“Ja… erm, oui.”

He engulfed her small hand in his bear paw and shook it heartily.

“Je suis monsieur Khan, mais vous devriez m’appeler Nadir.”

Christine blinked. If her skin hadn’t already been flushed from the heat she would be red in the face in embarrassment. She dropped his hand and swept a straggling curl from her cheek.

“Désolé… mon français n’est pas bien…” She muttered. The man leaned against the door frame and sucked his teeth.  
“Parlez-vous des autres langues? Italien? English?”

“Oui!” She grinned suddenly, and he smiled again at her infectious enthusiasm. “Oui, je parle English.”

“So do I.” He laughed. “Sorry. It’s not a problem. Let’s start again.”

Another hearty shake of her hand and another exchange of grins.

“I’m Mr Khan but you should call me Nadir.”

“I’m Christine. Miss Daae sounds way too formal.”

“Well, come in then, Christine. May I take your bag?”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

Nadir led her through the hallway. Christine gaped at the sudden opulence that surrounded her. The hallway led out into a square foyer with a balcony that ran all the way around for the second floor. The ceiling was high above and sported a gargantuan crystal chandelier. The walls were covered in tapestries and paintings, and the sideboards and display cases she could see all looked old and intricately carved. The latticed glass of the windows threw light into every corner without letting in too much heat. She stood in the centre of the room, gazing up at the chandelier, too taken aback by this palace that she had stumbled into to notice Nadir had opened the door to the kitchen and was standing watching her.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” He commented, looking up too. “Specially commissioned, probably.”

“This place is ridiculous.” She murmured, looking over at him. “You really live here?”

Nadir chuckled and nodded, spreading his hands.

“Yeah, it’s pretty ridiculous. And I’ll show you where I hang my hat after we cool you down. I take it you’re not used to heat?”

“Sweden isn’t the warmest place.” She picked up her bag from where she had let it sag onto the square Persian carpet and followed him through the door into an equally expensive looking kitchen, all in white and black, sleek and sophisticated in the midst of all this history and antiquity. Nadir gestured at a chair at the breakfast bar that faced into the main kitchen area and Christine took a seat, fanning herself.

“Water okay? Or would you prefer something more refreshing?” He joked, taking a crystal glass tumbler out of a cupboard. Christine wondered what he meant then caught sight of the bottle display that took up most of the side wall, completely filled with wines and rums and every other alcohol she could think of. She shook her head.

“Water is fine, thank you. I don’t drink.”

“Smart girl.” He opened the fridge and took a pitcher of filtered water out, filling her glass. “My religion warns against drinking but it really is the best remedy for stress, I’ve found.”

“Stress?” She accepted the water from him and took a sip. It chilled her lips. “How can you be stressed in a place like this?”

Nadir smiled wryly, leaning on the breakfast bar opposite her.

“It’s a big house. It requires a lot of work. Which is why I put out the ad.”

“You must have no shortage of people applying to stay here with you.” She shrugged. “This place is stunning. When I saw there was a live-in job in a country house in the south of France I couldn’t believe it.” She paused. “What’s the catch?”

His eyebrows lifted. She’d clearly taken him aback with her question.

“Catch?”

“I get to live here, rent free. Help myself to any food I want. A small amount of pay to keep myself going.”

“You have to clean, and do chores. You’ll work for your keep, Christine. Other than that, there’s no catch.”

Christine’s lips curled. It was something between a smile and a smirk.

“This place is spotless.”

He shrugged. “I try my best. Like I said, it’s a big house. It’s a lot to keep clean.”

The first floor was mostly open plan. Other than the square foyer the rooms ran into each other. Clockwise from the kitchen was the dining room, then a lounge area which contained some bird cages filled with gently tweeting songbirds, a parlor, a small reading room and a door that led down into the cellar, which Nadir assured her was filled with old storage and more wine. She saw a large spider on the bannister of the steps leading down and took his word for it.  
When he showed her her own quarters on the second floor she was even more convinced this whole thing was a scam. The bedroom was all white, with a large four-poster bed, dressing table, walk in closet and even an en-suite bathroom. She put her small bag on the foot of the bed and paced around, ignoring Nadir’s curious stare. It was practically as big as her old flat back in Sweden. She stood staring out of the window at the waves crashing against the rocks way below and shook her head.

“I’m dreaming.”

“Come.” Nadir said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “There’s more to show you.”

Besides her own little area Nadir had his own on the opposite side. He opened the door and let her poke her head in but shooed her out before she could get too good of a look. She noted a cat sleeping on his bed.

“I’ve been cleaning the house all day for your arrival so my own room is a bit of a mess.” He confessed, grinning sheepishly.

“You didn’t need to clean for me. That’s my job, isn’t it?”

“I wanted to give you a good impression. I didn’t want you running for the hills as soon as you got here.”

“Trust me, there’s no keeping me from this place.”

There was another little sitting area as well as a large bathroom complete with clawfoot tub and waterfall taps, adjoining onto a wet room. Next to the stairs was the games room, filled with more books and a pool table, and another cat, this one sitting in the windowsill and eyeing her warily. When they passed the stairs Nadir gestured up at them.

“That’s… well, the third floor. You won’t use it much.”

“Why? What’s up there?” A flash of panic ran through her, along with images of the previous applicants who had surely been murdered and butchered and stored up there…

“More of the same, but more dust. And books.” He sighed. “There’s a lot of books. And then there’s the attic space, where there’s the last bedroom. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Can I see the third floor?”

Nadir glanced up the steps and shrugged. “Later. I haven’t cleaned up there yet. For now, you could unpack and settle into your room?”

She narrowed her eyes. He didn’t look worried or tense. He looked tired. There was a definite sag in his posture.

“Alright.”

She hadn’t brought much. Mama Valerius had insisted on buying her some summer clothes but they filled less than half of the wardrobe. She spread her comb and brush onto the dressing table. She put her shampoo and soap into the bathroom and her toothbrush in the little cup on the sink. She had left her door ajar, and above her she could hear Nadir moving about upstairs, no doubt bustling about cleaning up or whatever. She sat on the end of the bed and looked around at her new room. She pinched herself quite viciously and frowned. No, she was definitely here, in this beautiful room, in this beautiful house, in this beautiful country.  
Why had he picked her? There must have been hundreds of applicants. She took the paper from her three quarter pants’ pocket and read over the ad again.

 

_Live in, rent free position in a country home in the south of France, near Marseilles. Any amount of experience fine. Minimal French needed, but preferred. Must be hardworking and determined, no allergies to animals. No contract required - stay as long as you like. Contact M. Khan._

 

A knock on her door startled her. She left the paper on the bed and went over. Nadir smiled at her, smoothing back his hair again.

“Ready to see the third floor?”

There weren’t any other bedrooms on this floor but a practical library of books along with an office piled high with papers all over the Persian carpets. There were even more birdcages up here, with a whole array of beautiful, colourful birds that trilled and sang the whole time they were there. There were three cats up here - one staring at a bird cage, another curled up in a cat bed beside the desk and a third that hurtled down the stairs as soon as they went up them and nearly scared Christine half to death. He hadn’t been lying about the amount of books and journals and antique furniture but he had been lying about cleaning up - either that, or he had attempted to and simply gave up. Gazing around at the surfaces cluttered in countless knick-knacks and the books and papers strewn all over the floor, she could see why. Things were covered in dust and spiderwebs hung in dark corners. Christine shuddered as she passed them.

“I’m glad my own room is arachno-free.”

Nadir laughed.

“I’m the same. Can’t stand them.” He admitted. He opened a door and let her peek inside at the music room, furnished with a truly exquisite grand piano, an assortment of other instruments all over the walls, more bookshelves and another desk also liberally covered in worked-on paper, this time musical scores littered the floor instead of pages of squiggles.

“You play?”

Nadir chuckled and raised a finger to the ivory keys of the piano. He went to press one, then hesitated and drew his hand away slowly.

“Not really.”

“You just… write, then?” She went to pick up a sheet of composing that lay on the piano stool but he steered her away. He pointed at the final set of stairs, much narrower than the rest and right beside the music room.

“That leads up to the attic bedroom. Leave it be.”

“What’s there?”

Nadir considered, then grinned wickedly.

“Old storage and more wine.”

She frowned and he shook his head, still smiling.

“Nothing. Just a spare room that’s used from time to time. The door’s locked anyway.”

He was trying to reassure her but he only managed to pique her curiosity further. She rubbed the goose pimples on her bare arms - it was quite cold up here - and took a lingering last look at the dark stairwell before Nadir led her back downstairs.

-

“Any questions?”

Nadir had taken her back into the kitchen. She was drinking more water. This time, he was making a sandwich for himself. She crunched on an ice chip as she thought.

“What do I have to do here, exactly?”

“Make sure things are tidy, mostly. The kitchen needs a good clean once every other day. I cook, mostly, but I’m not much of one.” He laughed. “So you may want to cook for yourself. If not, you’re always welcome to some khoresh.” He paused. “Are you vegetarian?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“There’s always a vegetarian option, anyway.”

She blinked. What a cryptic thing to say. She decided not to press it. From the open sliding patio door another cat came sauntering in and helped itself to some food in a dish.

“Why are there so many cats?”

Nadir grumbled. Obviously, it was a sore spot for him.

“They think they bloody own the place. They’re mostly neighbourhood cats but they visit nearly every day. Just wander through the house and sleep and eat. I can’t stop them.” He looked up at her.

“If you stop putting out food they’ll probably stop coming.” She pointed out. He just shrugged and smiled tersely.

“Do you mind cats?”

“I quite like them. Are they friendly?” She reached down to offer her hand to the one who had came in. It sniffed her finger gingerly and then brushed its cheek against it. She was rewarded with being able to stroke its sleek fur. It was a tortoiseshell colour and the bell on its collar tinkled as she pet it.

“Some are. Some are strays so they’re more… skittish. They’ll let you know if they’re friendly or not. As a rule of thumb, if they look a bit beat up, they won’t like company. This little sod belongs to someone. He’s well looked after. He’s just here for free grub.” Nadir lightly nudged the cat with his shoe but it flicked its tail and went back to eating.

“Do I have to clean up after them?”

“Nah. They’re all outdoor cats. They come and go as they please. But just bloody wait until it’s shedding season.” He rubbed his brow. “That’s a nightmare.”

“And the birds?”

“The birds?” He echoed, then smiled. “Oh, yeah. They’re easy to look after, too. Just a bit of feed and wiping the bottom of their cages. I can show you that later. It’s a bit gross but they’re sweet.”

“You like animals, then?”

“They’re alright.” He shrugged. “I prefer the birds to the cats.”

“You had a cat on your bed.”

“Don’t remind me. It won’t leave me alone. Of course, the most messed up kitty had to be the one who picked me as its owner. Poor thing has no ear, no tail, missing toes and missing half it’s fur. Can’t keep it out of my room for the life of me.”

“What happened to it?”

“Pretty sure someone set him on fire.”

“What?!”

“That was awhile ago. He’s better now.”

Christine was quiet. She looked out of the patio door.

“Does he have a name?”

“Pishi.” He rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “Means kitty cat in Persian. I’m very original, as you can see.”

“You’re Persian?”

“Yes. Born and raised.” He smiled. “A Persian and a Swede meet in rural France. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

She drained the rest of her water while he munched on his sandwich. He opened the fridge and looked inside.

“I may have your first job.” He called to her. “It’s like Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard in here.” He opened a drawer, retrieved a notepad and pen and began scribbling. When he was satisfied he fished in his pocket for some money, tore out the page and handed both to her.

“If you could run down to the general store and get these things I can cook you a proper welcome meal.”

She read through the list. He had written the items in English and then the French beside them. She nodded.

“I can do that. I know where the store is.”

“You do?”

“I passed it on the way here. I can remember things well.”

“Always a good trait to have. You can do a bit more exploring through town if you want, but be sure to get here before evening. It gets quite cold, believe it or not. And feel free to buy yourself anything you fancy, too.”

“I couldn’t possibly spend your money, Nadir…”

“It’s not like we haven’t got enough.” He laughed. “Go on and spoil yourself, Christine. You’ve had a long journey.”

It was good to be strolling through the streets again. She noted a restaurant, a bar, a butcher, a proper little market place in the plaza… it really was fairytale-esque. And everything was covered in those sweet smelling purple flowers. She thought that Nadir’s house looked a little left out without them.

She found the store again with its map of the town on its side. It had a sign above reading ‘magasin’. She guessed that was the French word for ‘store’ and made a mental note before slipping inside.

Sidling through the aisles with the basket she had picked up, she scrutinised every single item against the words on her list carefully. It was proving more difficult than she expected. She was getting concerned about bringing the wrong things back. She was busy deciphering between a pack of ‘pois’ and a pack of ‘petits pois’ when a cheery voice startled her into nearly dropping both the bloody pois.

“Bonjour! Ça va?” A guy around her age was standing beside her, arms folded. His hair was blonde and floppy, his skin tanned brown as a berry. His blue eyes wrinkled as he smiled warmly at her. She felt her mouth dry and swallowed. Lord, was everyone here attractive?

“Bonjour.” She said uneasily. “Oui… Ça va…”

“Avez-vous besoin d’aide, mademoiselle?”

“D’aide? Uh… Je veux… Um…”

He was watching her, waiting patiently with an easy smile that made her feel terrible for taking so long.

“Mon français n’est pas bien.” She sighed after a moment.

“Vous êtes anglais?”

“Non… je parle anglais?”

“Bien! Ah, me also. A little.” He grinned triumphantly.

“Do you work here?” She asked. He looked confused so she repeated herself, pointing around the shop. Then he nodded.

“Oui. Mon frére… ah, my brother’s… shop.”

“I have a list…” She handed him the paper and he studied it, then smiled.

“Puis-je prendre votre panier?” He gestured at her basket and mimed holding it.

“You want my basket?” She pointed at it. He nodded.

“Basket! S’il vous plaît.”

She obediently handed it to him and he looked at the list again.

“Alors… suivez-moi.”

He took her around the shop gathering the items on her list, being careful to point them out to her. Then he took her over to the counter, hopped over it, and started ringing up her purchase. She noticed a small pile of envelopes and added one to the basket.

“Do you have… stamps?” She gestured at the top corner of the envelope. He looked puzzled. She chewed her lip.

“Je veux… un letter… pour ma Mama?” She mimed the letter being sent. He picked up a small book and opened it, showing her some stamps with his eyebrows raised in questioning. She nodded.

“Oui!”

“Les timbres.” He nodded. “Combien? Un? Deux?”

“Un.” He got her a single one and handed it to her.

“Um… combien euros pour le… timbre?”

“Pour la belle fille? Rien.” He winked. She giggled, not understanding all the words but definitely understanding his gist.

“Merci.” She put all the notes Nadir had given her on the table and he took the right amount and gave her her change. She slipped it in her pocket with her stamp and watched him packing up her purchase into bags.

“Je suis Christine.” She said finally. He smiled at her again.

“Raoul.” He leaned on the counter and tilted his head. “Vous êtes nouvelle ici.”

“Désolé…?”

“Vous.” He pointed at her. “Nouvelle…. Uh… new? Ici.” He pointed at the ground.

“Oh. Oui. Je suis nouvelle.”

“Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?”

“Ici? Um… Je…”

“Un moment.” He disappeared under the desk and popped back up with small book which he handed to her. She read the front. French to English dictionary.  
After riffling through she tried again.

“Je travailler la maison sur là.” She pointed out the window at the hills.

“Non!” He gaped. “Non, c’est pas vrai! Une belle fille comme vous?!”

She blinked. He took the dictionary from her and flicked between the pages wildly.

“The house is… Haunted.” He nodded quickly, his English thick with his accent. “A man… Fou… in the house.” He said finally.

“What? What do you mean?”

He sighed.

“Merde. Mon anglais est terrible.”

“Raoul? What do you mean?”

He looked at her, his eyes big and sad.

“Désolé, Christine. Alors. Vous devez faire l’attention. Quelle dommage… vous êtes très belle.” He pointed at the book.

“J'apprendrai l’anglais pour vous.” He mimed studying and she laughed and nodded.

“Merci. Je… apprendrai le francais pour vous.”

“Merci.” He winked. “Alors. Au revoir, belle fille.”

-

“What does ‘fou’ mean?” Christine asked Nadir. She was sitting on the breakfast bar again, and he had his back to her where he was standing at the stove. He was stirring away at something that smelled delicious. He paused.

“Fou? It means mad. Crazy.” He added something from a spice jar. “Why?”

“I heard it today.”

“Did someone call you that?” He laughed.

“No. I was chatting - well, barely chatting, I guess - to the shopkeeper in the store and he said a man lived here. A ‘fou’ man.”

Nadir looked over his shoulder at her. After a moment he burst out laughing, turning back to the stove.

“Ah, this town is very superstitious. Believe it or not this is a very old house in an old village. I heard the same stories when I moved in here. Haven’t encountered this ‘crazy man’ yet, though."

Christine raised her eyebrow.

“Right.”

“Honest. It’s probably because we’re so near to Italy - superstition is just part of the culture there. When I moved in they told me I’d be scared away within the week. Well, it’s been years, and I’m still here. You’ve nothing to worry about, Christine. It’s just the townsfolk trying to scare the new guy.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” She watched him take out two bowls and set them on the side. “Even if it were true, I could deal with living with a few ghosts to stay here.”

After being stuffed with khoresh, Christine said goodnight to Nadir and they went their separate ways to their bedrooms. Christine closed her door and got changed into her pyjamas, then sat on the chaise lounge underneath the window and started to write a letter. Between scribbling the Swedish words onto the paper she gazed out of the window at the sunset, her pen between her teeth. The small amount of clouds had streaked the sky pink and orange, mirrored perfectly onto the water of the sea below. It was like watching a watercolour painting that was ever changing. Each time she looked up from the page the pinks had darkened more, the orange burning more and more red, the yellow disc of the sun inching further under the horizon like it was slipping directly into the rouged waters under it. She told Mama Valerius all about the house and Nadir, about the town itself, about the view from her window. Putting the pages into the envelope and licking the stamp - the timbre - and affixing it to the front she climbed into bed. She left the curtains open on both her bed and the window so she could watch the last of the sunset. The sky was indigo now, with the slightest rim of the sun peering out at her, burning golden yellow among the dark of the sky.

  
Christine Daaé could definitely get used to this.


	2. II

Breakfast was lovely. To Nadir’s delight, she made a fruit salad with greek yoghurt on top and they ate in the dining room. She sat cross-legged on the antique chair as she ate. He couldn’t help but like her already. She laughed a lot when she saw the horde of cats waiting outside the patio door, at the way they meowed and paced when they saw him walk by. He showed her where the cat food was kept and dutifully poured out bowl after bowl before letting them in. Pishi came racing down the stairs, batting several other cats out of the way so he could get first dibs on the food. Nadir gave him a good scolding for being mean but ended up petting his head anyway.   
Next, Christine got a shower. She tied her hair up when it was still wet and dressed in some long shorts and a t-shirt, then brushed her teeth. She had a hamper in her room for her dirty clothes. She made her bed then wandered around the house again. Nadir was in a freshly pressed shirt, busy stacking the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

“That’s my job.” She tutted.

“I got it.” He nodded. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m good. Do you have a duster?”

“All the cleaning stuff is under the sink.” He pointed, and she followed the direction and opened it up. 

“What’s the plan for today?”

“Just clean around, get more used to the place, that sort of thing.”

“Good idea. I have to go into town for some errands. Will you be okay on your own for a few hours?”

The idea of being left alone was extremely pleasing but Christine didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Yeah.” She said, nonchalantly. “I’ll be good.”

“I also have another task for you.” He closed the dishwasher door and straightened up, rubbing the small of his back with a wince. “If you could write a list of what foods and drinks you like I can get them when I go to Marseilles later in the week. I usually stock up every two weeks or so.”

“I’ll eat anything, Nadir. I’m not fussy.”

“Ah, but that’s no fun! You have to show me some Swedish delicacies.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll write you a list. Is there anything in particular you would like me to do today?”

Nadir pulled a face.

“It feels so strange ordering people around…”

“It’s my job.” She smiled at the last word. Yes. Her job was helping keep this palace clean and tidy. 

“Well… if there’s anything that looks particularly neglected, maybe give it some attention. And maybe don’t clean any of the antiques with cleaners - give ‘em a dust and they’ll be fine. You’d be surprised how easily modern polish can eat through old metal.” He patted his pockets and nodded. “If you need me, I have my phone. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Wait. Could you do something for me?”

Nadir raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Wait here.”

She dashed upstairs and returned with the letter for Mama, thrusting it into his hand.

“I bought a stamp - a timbre - yesterday. Could you post this for me?”

He examined the envelope and nodded.

“Not a problem. I’ll do that first. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Christine was more than fine. With Nadir gone she could swoop into every room and scrutinise it on her own time. Everything was just as wonderful as it had been the day prior - the gallery of paintings and tapestries on the walls, the marble statuettes and carved wooden figurines on the antique end tables at every turn, the leather-bound old books that spanned neatly on every bookcase - and, of course, the sprawling chandelier high above her head. She meandered around the ground floor, flicking her duster over any little statue or wooden corner she saw. This floor was spotless; she ascended to the second and double-checked her room was clean enough. This floor wasn’t very dusty, either. She picked the clothes out of her hamper and took them downstairs into the laundry room, putting them into the washing machine but not turning it on in case she messed it up. She didn’t want to call Nadir over such a trivial thing so she reasoned she would ask him about it later when he got back. She considered cleaning up his room - she had peeked inside as she passed and saw his unmade bed and the abandoned clothes on the floor along with the coffee mugs on his bedside table but decided it was far too weird for her to go barging into his bedroom and moving things about. She glanced at the clock. He hadn’t even been gone ten minutes.

What could she do to help? Nadir had made sure the first two floors were clean to the point of sparkling. That left the third floor. She ran the duster over the palm of her hand and considered. From what she had seen that was the floor in most need of attention. It was reasonable enough for her to spend this free time neatening it up for him. Also, the heat was beginning to burn through the windows and she remembered the last floor of the house being distinctly cooler than the others.

The cool was a welcome chill on her sweat-prickled skin. Though none of the blinds of the windows were closed it was somewhat darker up here. It was probably the amount of stuff packed into this floor. She circled around the rooms. She didn’t recognise most of the stuff that was up here, save a few instruments in the music room. Things higher up on shelves that obviously hadn’t been touched in a while were caked in dust and cobwebs, adding to the gloomy atmosphere. She opened a door Nadir hadn’t the previous day and found another bathroom, a little one. There were divots in the tiles above the basin where - she presumed - a mirror had been removed. Odd. She closed it again and her eyes flickered over to the last set of stairs.

She twisted the duster in her hands. She shuffled her feet about in their sandals. She took a step forward. Then she practically dove over to the steps, climbing them quickly until she got to the door.

She pressed her palm onto it, the sweat of her skin leaving a print on the cool wood that faded slowly. The brass handle was dull from use. Running her finger over it, she could feel her heart drumming in her head. She swallowed. She wrapped her sticky fingers around it, and slowly turned. She held her breath as the handle turned too.  
It stopped halfway. She tried again, quicker this time. It stopped again. She blew out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding and pouted. She crouched down to peek through the keyhole. There was only black, but she thought she could faintly make something out in there… 

Something brushed against her leg and she turned quickly, cheeks bright red in mortification of being caught.

“Nadir!” She choked, then looked down at the perpetrator. An utterly gorgeous Siamese cat with bright blue eyes was sitting on the step near her foot, blinking at her as its tail swished. Christine broke into laughter with relief, crouching down to offer her hand to the cat. It didn’t even sniff her. It leisurely climbed the steps and then scratched at the door. It turned to look at her and meowed.

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I can’t get in there either.”

It meowed again, looking at the door impatiently. Then it lay down on the top step, tucked its paws underneath itself and sulked. 

She started in the music room by gathering up the papers that lay all over the floor. Some of them were covered in dust, obviously meaning they hadn’t been moved in a while. She shook the worst sheets off and tried to make sense of what they were. Some contained musical scores, others were scratched out in red pen, others were just normal papers with illegible scribbles all over them. She wanted to pair the musical sheets together into compositions but they either had no titles or she simply couldn’t decode the shaky scratches on the top line. In the end she bundled all the music together and set them on the desk. She ran her duster over a paperweight and was pleased to discover it had a preserved rose inside; she put it on top of the compositions and organised the other sheets beside it. There were deep red stains on the wood of the desk and she couldn’t help but notice the room smelt faintly of alcohol among all the must. The only things in there that were clean were the instruments, which were all in immaculate condition. She idled by the violin on the wall, staring up at it with a twang in her heart. She shook her head and frowned hard at no one in particular. She could smell that it had been freshly oiled and the bow beside it was shining with resin. Good. At least Nadir knew how to look after a violin properly. The piano was in similar condition. She lifted the cover and saw all the keys, matte from use but perfectly clean. She dared press one, and the deep, rumbly baritone note rang through the room. Smiling, she closed it over again carefully and repositioned the stool underneath it. 

She dusted off the bookshelves filled with musical theory books as well as classical scores, some she knew, some she didn’t. Squished in between two hefty titles was a small, well-thumbed book about how to read music. It looked old; the pages were yellowed and the binding shot, but she opened it gently and glanced over it. She wondered if Nadir would let her borrow it - she remembered learning music years ago with Papa, and it would be good to refresh her memory. She took it out and put it on the stairwell leading down onto the second floor so she could remember to bring it down with her. 

Next, Christine looked around the large main room of this floor again. It was a true Aladdin’s cave of treasures. She dusted off an impressive collection of what she assumed to be different gemstones and rocks. She straightened out an entire bookshelf of first editions. Books of countless languages inhabited this floor but try as she might she couldn’t find a single Swedish one. She had brought her own book with her, of course, as well as a few others but she had read most of them already. She had hoped that in this vast collection there would at least be some in the language so comforting and safe to her. She knew that she had to learn French - quickly - but Nadir didn’t seem to have many educational books for beginners, mostly just very difficult looking books from years ago about topics she didn’t totally understand. The only one suitable for her was the music one she had found, and was now being sat on by a cat. The Siamese was still resting near the door to the attic. She could feel its eyes burning into her as she moved around, stacking paper after paper onto the desk in an attempt to organise the mess of an office. She nearly knocked off an entire container of red pens but thankfully managed to catch it before it hit the floor. She actually found a wine glass in there, with a drop of congealed red wine inside. She picked it up and took it downstairs along with her found book, dropping the book off in her room before heading to the kitchen to put the wine glass in the sink. She cleaned it carefully by hand, not knowing if it was safe to go in the dishwasher or not. Then she had the time-consuming job of opening each and every cupboard in the kitchen to find where the glass went. For a man who lived on his own Nadir had a lot of china and glassware - and she’d only ever actually seen him drink from a mason jar. She set the wine glass upside down along the others and closed the cupboard, tickling a fat black cat that was napping beside the now empty food bowls. She saw it had a word embroidered onto the red fabric of its collar: Bisou. She tickled under its chin while it purred contentedly, its eyes closing.

“Hej, Bisou.” She murmured. 

At the sound of its name the cat purred louder, arching its neck into her touch. She tapped it gently on the nose and went upstairs to her room. Sitting at her desk, she opened the notebook Nadir had given her the night before and stared out of the window, chewing her lip as she thought.

Shrimp  
Herring  
Cinnamon buns   
Latte stuff  
Mushrooms  
Strawberries 

By the time she finished the margin of the page was filled with etched patterns and swirls mapping her extensive thinking progress. She tore the page out and copied it out again in her neatest writing. Most of the things she was used to eating had been brought in the day before but her exploit in the kitchen hunting for the wine glass’ place had shown it lacking some stuff she fancied. It was probably best if she had a good nose in the fridge-freezer too to see if anything was lurking in there. She might even be able to cook Nadir something for when he got back. 

Christine went out onto the landing and looked over at the stair well; the bannister was made of sleek dark wood that shone with polish. She touched it and smirked. She tucked the notebook under her arm and hitched her leg over and slid down, her laughter filling the quiet house. Bisou, who had moved his slumber to the fifth stair, noticed Christine cannonballing down the bannister and ran as fast as his little legs could carry his chubby body into another room. She nearly fell off as she reached the bottom and slid off the wood entirely but managed to keep her balance, giggling to herself. 

Like everything in the house the fridge was huge. There were a few essentials - butter, milk, cheese, bags of vegetables, a pitcher of filtered water as well as a few sealed fillets of salmon. In the freezer was frozen meat and some ready meals. Other than that, there was bread in the bread bin. The only thing that was well stocked in this house was the wine rack. 

Well, if there was anything she could do it was get used to living and working here. She hunted down two plates, a butter knife, a cutting board and a dangerously sharp looking knife that she held warily away from herself. After buttering two slices of bread she carefully sliced up some of the salmon fillets and stacked them equally onto each piece, along with some cheese that smelt worrying strong when she cut into it but tasted divine when she tentatively sampled a bit. She remembered seeing some sort of chutney in the cupboard and put that on her own, then put the other sandwich into the fridge for Nadir.

It turned out she shouldn’t have bothered - she was busily munching through her own sandwich when she heard him come in with a cheery ‘hello!’. He came into the kitchen and smiled at her warmly.

“Having some lunch? Good idea.”

“I made you a sandwich too. It’s in the fridge.” She gestured over at it.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” He loped over to it and opened the door, retrieving the plate. He looked down at it and laughed.

“We aren’t going short on bread, Christine. You could have put a slice on top, too.”

Her cheeks burned. She looked down at her own sandwich. Ah. That was right. Other people usually had closed sandwiches.

“Sorry. I’m… just used to making them like this.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s quite exotic. Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head and he plonked himself beside her on the breakfast bar. She was quite amused at the thought of a sandwich of all things being exotic to him.   
“Anyway, you said you wanted to try some Swedish delicacies. We usually eat open sandwiches. Smörgås.” She glanced over at his worried expression. “You can eat it with your fingers. I cut it in half.”

“Ah.” He picked it up and took a bite. “Hey, it’s good.”

“Tack.” She smiled. 

“What did you get up to today then?”

“Oh, this and that. I put some laundry in the machine but I didn’t turn it on - you’re gonna have to teach me how to use that, and the dishwasher too. And I dusted around down here and the second floor.”

Nadir nodded, enthusiastically scoffing his sandwich.

“Then I went onto the third floor and tidied up all the sheets on the floor, organised them a bit.”

Nadir paused.

“What?”

“I organised them a bit. I don’t know what they were supposed to be in, so I just piled them together on the desk. I hope that’s okay.”

“You moved the papers?” He muttered, his voice uncomfortably hushed.

“Yes.” A chill swept through her blood. She stared down at her plate. She didn’t much feel like eating anymore. 

“Oh.” He wasn’t eating either.

“Was that wrong?”

He inspected his own plate for a silent moment. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. God, don’t say she’d messed up on the first day!

“No.” He said, finally, though it was a little strained. “No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

“Nadir…”

“It’s fine, Christine. It was a mess up there anyway.” He shrugged, continuing to eat.

She ate too, picking at the bread half heartedly. If he hadn’t wanted her to clean that floor he could have said. Or was she being rude by barging around moving all his stuff? Oh god. Bisou was prowling around, attracted by the smell of salmon. She tore a piece off and fed it to him.

“It sounds crazy but everything up there has its place.” He muttered. “Every book, ornament, jar, sheet…”

“I won’t do it again, Nadir. I’m so sorry.” She whispered.

“Don’t be sorry. Like I said, it was a mess up there.” He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. He had a lovely face and when he did smile it was incredibly infectious. 

“I also wrote out that list you wanted.” She had left the notebook on the side while she made lunch, so she fetched it and handed it to him. He turned to the page that contained her tiny, neat, looping handwriting and scanned the list.

“You like a lot of fish, huh?”

She shrugged. She hadn’t considered it before.

“Well, lucky you we live next to one of the biggest port cities in France.”

“I can cook you some more of Sweden’s finest.” She smiled. “As long as I get to tasted more of Iran’s.”

“It’s a deal. But one thing - none of that stinky fish stuff.”

“Which?”

“The one that smells so terrible you have to open it underwater.”

“Surströmming? Oh, no one actually really eats that. It’s mostly the older people. And people don’t just eat it straight out the tin, either. It’s like, part of a buffet thing.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s gross.”

“Most delicacies are gross, though. There’s a kind of cheese in this country that you eat with actual maggots still in it.” Nadir shuddered. “None of that sort of nonsense in the cellar.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, gathering up their empty plates to put into the dishwasher. He tried to stop her but she insisted.

“There’s cheese in the cellar. All different kinds. We have enough to feed the entire town and beyond.” He laughed.

“I thought you said it was a wine cellar?”

“It is. Both of ‘em are down there, maturing. I rarely go down though. Spiders.”

“I’m never going down then. Sorry.” She laughed. “I have the absolutely worst fear of them.”

“I’m not fond of them either. Or any kind of bug or creepy crawly, really.” Nadir shuddered. 

Christine nodded, too distracted by the small congregation of kitties that had gathered in the kitchen. She set about filling up the bowls. Pishi jumped onto the breakfast bar despite Nadir’s protestations and meowed loudly until he pet him. 

“Ugly bugger.” Nadir cooed, cupping the cat’s face in his hands and planting a kiss onto its half-bald forehead. It meowed and pawed at his face in return, purring so loud Christine could hear it clear across the kitchen.

“Why does he like you so much?” She asked, stepping over cats that were now twining all around her ankles to get to their bowls.

“No idea. I don’t even like cats. They can usually sense when you’re not keen and leave you alone but Pishi bullies me until I show him attention.” He was nuzzling Pishi now, letting it rub its face all over his. Christine giggled as she began pouring the dry food into the bowls.

“Yeah, you make it look like such a chore. Poor Nadir.” 

Nadir chuckled and gave Pishi a long sweeping stroke from head to stubby tail.

“He’s alright. He doesn’t bite or scratch me, so he’s okay in my case.”

“I saw a gorgeous cat today.” Christine added. “On the third floor. I think it’s still sitting on the staircase up to that attic room. A Siamese.”  
“Ah, that’s Ayesha. She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Polar opposite of our little Pishi here.” 

“She was stunning. Those eyes! It’s harsh when a cat is prettier than you.” Christine laughed, petting the mountain of cats that were busy tucking into the food. 

“She’s a right little madam, though. Won’t give you the time of day but expects to be spoilt. She usually hangs around that staircase, though. If you go up there you’ll probably see her.”

“So that’s Ayesha and Bisou I’ve met today.” She mused as she washed her hands in the sink. “Any other names I should know?”

“Um… There’s Levi. He’s that black and white one with the patch under his chin.” Nadir pointed at the cats. “And Moochi, he’s the tortoiseshell one you saw yesterday. Other than that I can’t say many have names. They’re neighbourhood cats so we don’t bother.”

“Can I name them?”

“Feel free.”

“I’ll have to wait for the best one so I can give it the best name. I’ve already thought of it.”

“What is it?”

“No, I can’t tell you! It’ll ruin it.” She pouted. “But it’s a good name. You’ll like it.”

He groaned. “Please don’t call a cat Nadir.”

“I won’t! No, it’s a Swedish word, so definitely not Nadir. No sweat.” She laughed.

“Well, fine. Let me know when you find the right cat. I’m dying to know this name now.” Nadir laughed too. “There are plenty of cats passing through here to choose from, though. You’ll find yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a pretty slow chapter i know, but stay tuned for next week when the human disaster makes an appearance c:


	3. Chapter III

Christine did find her cat. It was a couple days later when she was walking through town to run some errands for Nadir. A small grey cat with a dusty nose followed her all the way home, entranced by the smell of fresh fish she had picked up from the little market in the centre of the town. Enchanted by this grubby little stray, Christine shared some of her meal with it. It followed her to bed and slept there the entire night. It left in the morning and when it came back it hurtled itself into her arms. She went to find Nadir to present her new friend to him.

“Is this the cat? He’s a bit puny.” Nadir tutted, gently stroking the cat’s small head with his large, hairy hand.

“This is her.” She corrected. “Kisse.”

“Kisse?”

“Kisse.” She beamed at him. “It means kitty cat in Swedish.”

The very next day she received a parcel from Mama Valerius, with a very long letter in Swedish that made her cry, as well as a present of two books: one English to French dictionary and a French grammar book that was written in Swedish. She spent the day poring over the books, desperately trying to cram the language into her brain. By the end of the day she could manage a few phrases and held a halting, awkward conversation with Nadir that he insisted he was thoroughly impressed by. Despite her nerves, she decided to bring the dictionary down with her the next time she went to Raoul’s shop to pick up some more shopping.

“Belle fille!” He called as soon as she entered, grinning from ear to ear. “Hello!”

“Bonjour, Raoul. Ça va?” She smiled, sidling up to the counter.

“Ça va, Christine! How are you?” His hair was flopping over from excitement. He looked like a puppy.

“Bon. Ah… J’ai… un livre. Pour… le français.” She gestured at the dictionary.

“Tres bien! J’ai un livre pour l’anglais. English. Mais… I am bad.” He laughed. “It is… dur.”

Christine looked up the word.

“Hard.” She corrected. “Oui. Anglais est dur. Francais est dur.”

“C’est terrible.” He sighed theatrically. “Je dois apprendre un autre langue pour une belle fille. Romantique, non?”

She blushed.

“You are so forward.” She muttered. He just raised an eyebrow quizzically and she shrugged.

“Rien.” She bit her lip. “Um… Raoul?”

“Oui, ma petite?” He fluttered his lashes at her comically.

“Je veux… um… aller…” She flicked through the dictionary quickly while he waited. “La plage?”

“La plage? C’est beau. Comme vous.” He grinned. “Pretty. You.”

God. This was going to be complicated. She thought hard, praying her grammar studying would pay off and he would understand her.

“Mmm… Je veux aller la plage -”

“À la plage.” He corrected. “Les prepositions sont difficiles.”

“À la plage.” She said hastily. “Mais… avec toi? Pour… un guide?”

He smiled so widely he looked like a cartoon.

“Avec moi?! Ouais!” He jumped up from his seat and was about to vault the counter when he paused, his hand still on the surface. He frowned.

“Merde.” He muttered. “Je dois travailler jusqu’a la fin.”

“What?”

“Je dois… work.”

“Oh.”

He gestured for her to hand him the dictionary. He spent a moment searching through before looking up at her.

“Saturday.” He said. “No work. You, me, the beach. Ouais?”

“Oui.” She smiled. She went to take it back from him but he held on, looking through again and ignoring her.

“Matin… matin… ah! Morning! Beach in the morning?”

“Okay.” She nodded. “In the morning.”

He finally handed back the dictionary, cupping his face in his hands and leaning on the counter so he could look at her dreamily.

“Je vais cuisiner pour vous. Vous aimez les fruits de mer?”

“Pardon." She looked through the dictionary quickly, mindful his eyes were still on her. Seafood.

"Oui. J'aime... ça."

“Bien. Je ferai un petit pique-nique. Ça va?”

“Ça va.” She smiled.

-

 

The picnic certainly was not petit. When she answered the door on the Saturday he was lugging a pretty huge basket, but he didn’t seem to mind. He grinned at her.

“Hello, Christine! How are you?” He asked in his thick accent.

“Very well, thank you. Ça va, Raoul?”

“Parfait. Surtout maintenant, car je t’ai vu.”

She shrugged and laughed. He kept looking at her as they walked down to the beach. She had braided her hair and was wearing a nice floaty blouse and some sunglasses. She smelt like sunscreen.

“The sea is so pretty.” She muttered, then glanced up at him. “The sea.” She pointed at it. “Est belle.”

He nodded in agreement but couldn’t help but think the sea was nowhere near as pretty as her. He watched her when they finally reached the beach; she tore off her sandals and dashed across the white fluffy sand. She buried her feet in it. She dragged her feet around in it. She picked some up and let it trickle through her fingers.

“C’est belle.” She breathed.

“Oui.” He stood beside her. He hadn’t bothered to wear shoes at all. “Alors, Christine… Il y a des piscines naturelles la-bas… C’est plus frais pour vous, là.”

“J’ai mon livre.” She rooted in her satchel and handed it to him. For a moment they stood communicating before she understood and he took her over to the rock pools. There was a small dip into the rocky wall behind the rock pools that threw a little area of shade onto the hot sand. Here, Raoul set down the basket and took out a towel. Christine had packed one too, under the advice from Nadir. They set them in the shade and Raoul sat down. Christine peeked into the rock pools expectantly but couldn’t see anything in the water.

“Ils sont timides.” He nodded, taking out a bottle of lemonade and handing it to her.

“Merci.” She flopped down beside him and opened it, taking a long drink and staring out at the ocean.

“C’est belle.” She said again, after a moment of listening to the wind whistle through the sky and the waves beat against the wet sand a few yards down.

“Oui.” He was looking at her again. “C’est belle.”

He tore his eyes from her profile to look down at his hands. She was picking up the sand again, trying to sculpt it into a pile but it was too fine and dry. He smiled and shuffled closer to her.

“Comme ça.” He dug, carefully positioning the growing pile of sand away from their makeshift camp, until he reached wet, dense sand which he dutifully stacked in front of her. She thanked him again and sculpted the wet sand. In her mind’s eye she could see a beautiful sand castle like the ones she’d seen in pictures but her fingers fumbled and her hands were too clumsy so she ended up making a sand-dome, patting it down hard with a sulky pout on her face. Raoul chuckled and picked up a nearby pebble and set it on top of her dome.

“Voila!” He gestured theatrically. She giggled and rubbed her hands off in the dry sand.

“Alors…” He took out a metal bucket and stood up. He began rolling up his trouser legs and gestured for her to do the same. She did, and he found it very difficult not to stare at her pale legs. He crouched beside the rock pools and put some of the water into the bucket, then put a finger to his lips once Christine had settled on the other side.

Then they sat.

And waited.

After a few moments Christine started to fidget but Raoul stayed still and silent, eyes scanning the water. When he suddenly sprang Christine nearly tumbled off the rocks. When she caught her balance she looked up to see him triumphantly holding a crayfish out to her.

“Il est grand!” He grinned, and plonked it unceremoniously into the bucket.

Raoul was eerily good at catching crayfish. Like a cat he would sit patiently and quietly for as long as it took before pouncing. One second his hand would be empty and the next he would be holding one, smiling at her proudly. Very soon the bucket was quite full and she could hear them all clinking against the metal sides. She consulted her dictionary.

“Les écrevisses.” She pointed at the bucket. “Pourquoi?”

He grinned at her.

“Manger.”

She looked mildly horrified. He blinked.

“Quoi?”

“Manger? Like… manger?” She looked the word up again to check it but no, it really did mean what she thought it did.

“Pourquoi manger?”

“Ils sont goûteuse.” He chuckled. He mimed eating and rubbed his tummy, licking his lips. “Goûteuse.”

She still looked concerned so he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Ça va?”

“Ça va. C’est… bizarre.” She giggled.

He didn’t see why it was but decided to nod anyway.

“Un peu.” He made a small gap between his fingers to her. “A little.”

“Oui.” She stood up and he watched her. The wind blew and he noticed he could see up her shirt a little. She was wearing a pink bra. Note.  
She left him to go paddle in the ocean. He sensed she wanted to be left, so he set about digging a hole and arranging rocks around it before returning to the pools to catch more.

When she had seen pictures online she never believed the sea could be so clear. She stood in it up to her ankles and watched the warm, completely transparent water lap around her feet, partly buried in the sand. Way out she saw ships dotting the waters. The sun danced and glinted as the waves fell and crashed on themselves. She raised her foot and splashed it into the water, shrieking as it splashed up higher than she had expected and soaked her legs. She turned to see smoke surrounding the rock pools.

Dashing over, she found Raoul sitting on the sand, seemingly unfazed by the smoke billowing out of a hole in the ground beside him.  
“Raoul!” She pointed at it.

“C’est pour cuisiner.” He had the book in his hands. “A campfire. Ça va, Christine.”

“Oh.”

He patted the towels and she sat down and watched. He waved his hand over the smoke and she could see an actual pot sitting on the embers, boiling away. He peeked inside it every now and then, then took it off the heat.

“C’est chaud.” He pointed at it. She rolled her eyes.

“Oui.’

He just laughed. He fished out some paper plates as well as some tongs from his basket and gave one to her. Then he divided the crayfish out onto the plates.  
Christine looked at her food. It looked good and smelt delicious but she didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do. Raoul recognised her unsurity and demonstrated peeling the shell. He was right. They were delicious.

After they finished Raoul tossed the shells into the ocean and packed the dirty plates away again and they both lazed in the sun. Christine read through the phrases in the dictionary a few more times. They chatted in their broken way rarely and mostly just lay silent in the sun, enjoying each other’s company. At one point, he took the book from her and studied through it before looking up at her.

“There is a ghost?” He asked. She looked puzzled, so he searched again. “House. Ghost?”

“Oh. Non. Ce n’est pas un… ghost.” She smiled. “Nadir.”

“Nadir. Il est bien.” He nodded. He paused. “Vous… vous aimez Nadir?”  
“Do I like him?” She considered. “Well… yeah. Oui.”

Raoul picked up a handful of sand and stared out at the sea, expressionless. Then he searched through the book.

“Nadir is… handsome? Pour vous?”

“What?” She tutted, tucking her hands behind her head. What a question! Nadir was nice-looking, sure, but he was surely much older than her.

“Nadir is handsome, oui. Non pour me.” She pointed at herself and shook her head. A slow smile grew on his face. She smiled back and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the ocean.

She felt something squishy land on her lower lip. She opened her eyes just in time to see him pulling away. She sat up, face like thunder.

“Did you just _kiss_ me?”

She had never seen anyone turn so red so fast. Though she was speaking English he clearly got the message.

“Oui.” He said, weakly.

She touched her lower lip and blinked.

“I hardly know you!” She exclaimed. “That’s not appropriate.”

Seeing his clueless face just made her madder so she tore the book from him and flicked through.

“C’est _indecent_.” She explained.

“Désolé, Christine, désolé.” He looked so wretched she softened a bit. She chewed her lip.

“Ça va, Raoul.” She sighed eventually. “Mais Raoul est… un… ami.”

He nodded somewhat glumly, picking at the sand. His face was still very red. She sighed.

“Hej.” She muttered. He looked up at her warily.

“Ça va?”

“Ça va.” He replied automatically.

“Et… Raoul est mon ami?”

He looked at her properly then. And smiled.

“Oui. Raoul est un ami.” He sighed. “Quel dommage. Désolé, Christine. Je suis vraiment désolé.”

She shook her head.

“Ça va. Alors. I must … aller… à la maison.”

“Oui?”

“Oui.”

Raoul jumped to his feet and started to pack up his things. He piled sand onto the embers, rolled up his towel and then slung the basket over his arm.  
“Je vais te marcher?” He mimed walking and pointed at her. She nodded, and they set off back up the cliff.

To save him carrying what must have been the French equivalent of Mary Poppins’ bag all the way up the hill Christine said goodbye to Raoul at the fork of the road. After more fumbling with the dictionary he was satisfied she didn’t hate him and went off down the road into the town, where she started the climb up to Nadir’s palatial home on the hill.

When she reached the house she let herself in like he had told her to do, and almost immediately she could sense something wasn’t right. It was midday and the sun was blazing as hot as could be but she shivered as she climbed the stairs, goosebumps rising on her skin. She put her bag in her room and wandered around the second floor. She heard footsteps on the third floor and went to the staircase leading up to them.

“Nadir? I’m here.” She called. The footsteps stopped. She rubbed her hands over her arms and held her elbows.

“Nadir?”

A door opened behind her. She slowly turned. He leaned against the doorframe and beckoned her over. She looked at him, then up the stairs again. She could have swore she heard someone upstairs. She went over to him and he took her inside his bedroom for the first time since she’d been there. He closed the door behind her in solemn silence and she began to panic.

He told her to sit down on the armchair in his room while he stayed standing, resting his hand on the mantelpiece. Christine felt very small in his dimly lit room. He said nothing for a long while. He didn’t even look at her. She watched him smooth his goatee over and over again, chewing her lip ragged.

“I haven’t been honest with you.” He said finally.

She couldn’t find any words to reply so she stayed quiet.

“I… live here, of course. This is my room. Obviously.” He sounded just as nervous as her. It didn’t make her feel any better.

“But I don’t… this isn’t…” He took a breath and looked at his hand. “The owner of the house came back today.”

She stared at him.

“What are you talking about, Nadir?” She said, quietly.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful. It’s just… I really didn’t want to scare you off-”

“Why would I be scared off?” She asked, folding her arms and frowning.

“He’s…” He looked skyward as he searched for a fitting word that wasn’t a swear. “... eccentric.”

“How eccentric?”

Nadir just looked at her sadly. And then, it dawned on her. Her grip on her arms loosened and she slowly returned his gaze.

“Nadir.” She whispered. “How many people have you had here before me?”

“Fifteen.” He said, just as quietly.

“And they all…?”

“Left.” He finished.

“Because of this owner?”

“Pretty much.”

She sat in stunned silence. He just watched her. Allah above, he was a stupid man. He should have told her from the very start.

“What now?” She asked.

“If I’m honest you won’t have anything to do with him. He’s not a people person. He’s just…”

“Eccentric. To the point of scaring off fifteen other people.”

The corner of Nadir’s lips twitched.

“I didn’t put ‘determined’ in the job application for filler.”

Christine brought her thumb to her mouth to chew on the skin around her nail while she thought.

“What’s his name?”

“Erik.” He replied. “His name is Erik.”

“And I won’t see him?”

“Probably not.”

She put her hand back in her lap and interlocked her fingers. She took a breath and let it go.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Nadir raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“If I won’t have anything to do with him I don’t need to worry about it.” She got to her feet. “What does he eat?”

“He… he doesn’t eat very often… I usually bring him stuff…”

“Alright, fine. And I take it he lives on the third floor?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll stay away. I can clean it while he’s not there or something.”

“Ah.” Nadir winced. “Ah, see, there’s… you may as well not clean anything up there.”

“Why?”

“Because… well, he’s very particular…” Nadir bit his lip. “He’s already in a mood.”

“Why?” She repeated, frowning.

“Because his papers had been moved.”

“Oh. Well, I was only trying to help.” She muttered.

“I know. Believe me, I know. I’ve been trying to clear that floor up for years. He’s very strange. He won’t acknowledge your presence unless he’s angry at you.”  
Her heart sank a little at that.

“I take it his mood is because of me, then?”

“Not you, per se… Just his papers being moved…”

“Nadir, I’m a big girl. It’s my fault. Just say it.” She shrugged. “If he’s in a mood with me, so be it. You said yourself I’m not going to see him, so what’s the worst that could happen?”

-

The most horrifying screech jolted Nadir into an upright position in his bed. Pishi, who had been happily slumbering on his chest, was catapulted across the covers at the sudden movement, desperately clawing at Nadir to stay put. Nadir swore loudly in Farsi, unlatched the cat from his skin and jumped to his feet. The sun had began to rise so he could navigate his way across the hallway to Christine’s room in the dim light. He knocked on the door.

“Christine?!”

“Oh God, Nadir, help me!” She sounded like she was crying. His skin turned to ice. He threw the door open, spitting angry words in his native tongue, swearing to wring his neck if he’d even dared to touch her.

She was standing at the side of the room as far away from her bed as she could get, her back pinned to the wall, breathing heavily. There was no one else there.

“Kill it! Kill it!” She whimpered, gesturing frantically at her bed.

“What’s wrong, Christine?” The relief he felt was astronomical.

“Oh, God, Nadir, it’s huge and hairy and big and it was just sitting on my pillow when I woke up and -”

“What was?” He lumbered over to her bed and twitched back the sheets. An absolutely gigantic spider ran for cover and he too let out a similar screech and jumped back.

“Allah, give me strength.” He whined, running his hands through his hair. “It’s so big.”

“Get it out! I can’t even look at it, herregud…”

Though interacting with the beast was the last thing on the planet Nadir wanted to do, he grabbed a piece of paper and her empty glass on the bedside table and, with a few words of encouragement under his breath, caught the bloody thing in the glass and held the paper over the top so it couldn’t escape. He danced on the spot as it hit against the sides of the glass.

“What do I do now?!” He panicked.

“Throw it out the window!”

“Open it, then!”

She darted over and fought with the latch until the glass parted from its frame. He started to head over but she shrieked and cowered away from him, lurching to the bathroom. He dumped the creature onto the windowsill outside and closed the window quickly. It sat there for a moment before leisurely starting to climb down the outside of the house.

“It’s gone! It’s gone.” He sighed in relief. His hands were shaking, but not nearly as bad as Christine was shaking inside the bathroom. She was trembling from head to toe, gripping onto her arms, teeth chattering.

“You’ll be okay now. I’ve checked. There’s no more spiders.”

“You have to check my hair.” She whispered. “You have to check my hair. If there’s a spider in my hair I swear I’ll die, I’ll die, herregud, jag kommer dö.”

“Okay, I’ll check. Come here.”

He brushed through her curls with his fingers until she was satisfied there wasn’t a spider in there. Then she sat on the edge of the bath and closed her eyes.

“Good morning.” Nadir said wearily.

“I’m gonna sleep with the curtains closed on my bed tonight.” She muttered.

-

Breakfast was silent. They both stuck to cereal and while they ate in each other’s company neither of them said anything. Nadir let the army of cats in to be fed while Christine put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She debated on asking why Nadir hadn’t made another bowl for their new housemate, but judging by the bags under his eyes he hadn’t had the best of nights sleep and didn’t want to stress him any further. The atmosphere in the house was uneasy, however having Nadir around remedied the situation somewhat. She was midway through cleaning one of the bird cages when he clamped a hand on her shoulder.

“I need to go, Christine.”

“Go?” She turned to look up at him. “Go where?”

“Marseilles. To stock the house. We’re already running low on things. I’m not used to having two appetites - well, two functioning appetites - in the house.”

“Oh.” She pressed her lips into a hard line. “How… long will you be, exactly?”

He shrugged.

“A couple of hours. I’ll be back before midnight, but it’ll probably be dark by the time I return.” He studied her blank expression. “Alright?”  
“Is he… is he up there?”

“Yes.” He watched her chew her lip. “Are you going to be okay?”

She shrugged and nodded.

“I have to be. I’ll keep out of the way.”

“Good girl.” He squeezed her shoulder and forced a smile. “I’ll see you soon. I have your list.”

She walked to the front door with him and made sure to wave him off. She kept standing there long after he had pulled out of the driveway and disappeared from view. Eventually, she stepped back inside, the door closing behind her.

She had been alone in the house almost every day since she had gotten there. Now she wasn’t alone, it was somehow quieter. More eerie. If Nadir hadn’t told her she wouldn’t have guessed there was someone else dwelling in the house now.

The grandfather clock in the foyer ticked loudly.

Still, despite the uncomfortable chill in the air she grit her teeth and marched up onto the second floor and into her room to tidy up her bed. She plumped the cushions just how she liked them - the two pillows stacked on top of each other and a square floral one sitting diagonally on top of those. She went into Nadir’s room and collected up any clothes from his floor and dropped them in a pile on his landing, then went back into her own room to retrieve the clothes from her laundry hamper.

As she passed the bed, she paused. And frowned. She definitely had set that floral cushion as a diagonal, hadn’t she? Now, it was set as a square. She went over and one-handedly put it back into position, then clucked her tongue in annoyance and went to put her washing in the machine downstairs.

Only that proved impossible. The little side room containing the washing machine and dryer was now locked. She jiggled the handle a few times and then dropped the load of washing on the floor in a huff. Why had Nadir locked it? He hadn’t ever locked it before. In the kitchen, she rooted in the drawer next to the sink for the tub of keys Nadir had shown her. Then, she had to painstakingly stand and try over fifteen separate keys before one unlocked the room. Kicking the door open, she slipped that key into her pocket and loaded up the machine.

Soon she was standing at the foot of the second floor stairs, staring up at the stairwell with a frown. She couldn’t hear anything. She stepped up to the halfway point where the stairs turned to the other side and looked up onto the floor itself. It was dim and cold as usual, but she could sense no life. Not even the cats were up there today.

The pillow in her room was still diagonal. She sat at her desk for a while with a book until she heard the washing cycle finish. Returning to the little room, she went to open the door.

It was locked.

“Sluta!” She hissed, fishing in her pocket for the key. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there anymore. She turned her pocket inside out. It was gone.  
  
Christine went into the kitchen to pour herself some water and calm herself. It wouldn’t do to get even more flustered when she was already sweating from the midday heat. She took several long sips from the glass and looked around the kitchen. Her eyes settled on the wine rack. There was a gap that had definitely not been there this morning.

Her heart started thumping. Had he been down here? While she was down here, too? And she hadn’t even noticed? She tipped the rest of the water into the sink and put the glass in there, too. She went over to the rack and studied the space. Was it just her imagination? Or was one really missing?

A loud click outside made her jump. Slowly, she edged to the door and peeked out.

Nothing but the tick of the grandfather clock to keep her company.

She crept around the lower floor, barely breathing. The birds had gone quiet. Outside, the wind was still. She forced herself to check every corner and curtain but she was utterly alone. She passed the laundry room door and froze.  
  
The key was in the lock. The key from her pocket.

She bolted up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door closed.

Of course, the pillow on her bed was square again. She ripped it from its place and threw it on the ground, then dashed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

And there she sat, in the bath, until Nadir came home. She simply could not bring herself to be out in the open house anymore. Even from her safe spot in the bathroom she was positive she could hear whispers and murmurs from all corners of the tiled room though she could plainly see no one was there.  
When, at long last, Nadir came home and his voice filled the house, she tentatively stepped out of the bath and unlocked the door. Inching the door open, she peeked into her room. Her pillow was still on the floor where she had flung it. Nadir was calling for her, his tone raising in concern. She met him in the kitchen, smiling weakly.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Christine!” His face dropped when he looked at her. “Are you okay? You’re as white as a ghost.”

“M’fine. I must have fell asleep.” She muttered, putting her glass from earlier into the dishwasher. She began helping Nadir unpack the groceries he had bought.  
“See? I got you loads of fish!” He grinned as he held up a packet. “All fresh caught. Looks good, huh?”

“Yep.” She feigned a smile.

“So what did you get up to while I was gone?”

“Not much. Cleaned.”

“And?”

She shrugged.

He frowned a little, closing the fridge door.

“Did he…?”

“No.” She interrupted. “I didn’t see him all day.”

“Ah. That’s… good, then. Maybe give it a few days before you do finally meet him, if you actually want to, that is. He’s a bit of a pain but you do have to meet him at least once.”

“Looking forward to it.” She mumbled, sitting wearily at the breakfast bar.

“I’m so glad to be home.” Nadir stretched his arms up, revealing a slither of his brown stomach. “I’m so tired. I barely slept last night and now I could stay in bed for a week. And do without drama for a year.”

A sound filled the air that made Christine’s skin speckle with goosebumps - a hiss of such barely contained rage she immediately shrank back in her seat. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“ _Nadir_.”

Nadir froze and glanced warily at the door, then looked at Christine.

“Guess I’m needed.” He sighed. “Perhaps you should stay down here for now.”

Wordlessly, she watched him traipse out the door and up the stairs. What ensued was a half hour row of the most epic proportions.

Christine tucked herself up small, hunched over, as she listened miserably. She could hear Nadir’s tired, low voice, and another, even lower voice that shook the house with its power. That voice was initially quiet but soon loud enough that a few French words spat with the most unspeakable venom sliced through the air around her from two entire floors away. She didn’t have a clue what they were arguing about but she could tell the man who wasn’t Nadir was not at all pleased. She wondered if it was her fault. One word cropped up a few times - ‘fille’ - which cemented her theory. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, glancing up at the shaking light fixture that vibrated every time the owner of the house spoke in that horrifying, booming tone. She really wanted to go up and climb into bed but that would potentially put her in the firing line; besides, she could escape out into the gardens should the man come down to yell at her with his terrible voice.

There was a clatter and she heard Nadir finally yell in response. Then, the sound of footsteps stomping down the stairs. Christine tensed, eyes widening, as the person rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“Allah above!” Nadir groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Give me strength!”

He tugged out the seat beside her and flopped down into it, covering his eyes with his hand.

Christine said nothing for a long while then swallowed.

“Are you okay?” She whispered.

He nodded, not moving his hand from his face.

“What…?”

“What happened?” He dragged his hand over his face and smoothed his goatee a few times in irritation. “What happened? What happened was I live with the most insufferable drunken sod who explodes over the tiniest things. Even if it’s all in his drunken imagination, which of course, it is.”

Nadir threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

“He thinks I’ve took something. He thinks I’ve stole something from the piles and piles of junk he keeps on that bloody floor. A book, of all things.”  
Christine’s blood chilled. Her jaw hung open.

“So he tore the place apart and screamed the house down, calling me a cheat, a liar… and some other things no one should say in the company of a young lady.” He growled.

She looked at her hands. They were shaking.

“What book?” She whispered.

Nadir barked a laugh.

“That’s the best part! Of all the priceless first editions, of all the books up there that are centuries old… he thinks I’ve taken a _kid’s book_!”

She felt dizzy. She grabbed the counter to steady herself. Oh god. What had she done? What was she going to do?

“Why on earth would I take it? What would I stand to gain? But of course, that doesn’t matter to him.” He huffed. “So I told him straight, and then he started accusing… well, you. Ranting on about how you moved all his things the other day and now you’ve stolen from him.” He peered at her horrified expression and his face dropped.

“You… you didn’t, did you?”

She swallowed hard and prayed she wasn’t going to cry. It didn’t work. She was sobbing in seconds.

“Oh.” Nadir sighed. “Oh, dear.”

“I borrowed it. I thought it was yours. I thought it would be okay because you wouldn’t mind. If I’d have known it was his…”

Nadir crushed her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.

“It’s not your fault… It’s not your fault…” He whispered, rocking her gently. “It’s mine. I didn’t tell you. It’s okay.”

“What am I going to do?” She whimpered.

“Just… hold on to it for now.” He sighed. “He’s by far too wound up by it all. If you turned up with it now…”

He didn’t have to finish. She understood perfectly. He simply held her until she pulled away and dried her face.

“Perhaps you should go to bed. I’m going to have to tidy up the third floor.”

“I can help?” She offered.

Nadir smiled wryly.

“He’s probably still up there. And as you know now, he’s a mean drunk.”

“Can you take me up to my room?” She whispered. She felt so pathetic but the last thing she wanted was to run into this screaming drunk man who hit the roof over a battered little book.

“Not a problem.” He patted her head so that she giggled and obediently escorted her upstairs. He wished her a good night and she closed the door. Kisse was sleeping on her bed, apparently unperturbed by the war that had raged upstairs. Christine changed into her nightwear and slipped into bed, bringing the cat to her chest to cuddle while she lay and listened.

“Va te faire foutre, Nadir.” The same voice from before was right above her now, close enough for her to hear it slurring. “Je ne te laisserai pas tout fiche en l’air.”  
“Erik, cet endroit est une porcherie.”

“Laissez-le. Ta petite fille peut l’arranger. C’est pourquoi tu l’as engagé, n’est pas?”

From the sneering, poisonous tone she could tell he wasn’t saying nice things.

“Je ne la veux pas dans ma maison.”

“Mais je la veux. C’est pas ta decision.”

“C’est ma maison!”

“N’importe quoi.”

“Ah, casse-toi.”

More footsteps that eventually faded out. The night was still. Eventually she heard Nadir come back down and go into his own room.

She didn’t fall asleep for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine meets a certain masked man of questionable temperament who owns the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know, it's been forever, and I'm sorry. I'll try to update this as often as I can from now on. I've been having a little trouble with short-term plot, but a good planning session will help with that. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment if you would like to see anything put into place!

Any sleep she did have did not last very long. On multiple occasions she awoke to a literal bump in the night, only to spring upright in bed and discover there was nothing there. Other times she we be on the brink of drifting off and then hear an indiscernible whispering coming from a corner of her room that had her wide awake in seconds. When dawn broke and the light of the sun began to spill into her room, she buried her head under her pillow and groaned.

“Bad night?” Nadir had asked as she sat, half-heartedly picking at a bowl of cereal, at the breakfast bar.

“Mmm.” 

“Any reason why?”

She shrugged and pushed a spoonful of soggy cornflakes into her mouth.

“Well, if you’re feeling too tired, you can take a nap.”

She looked up at him and smiled slightly.

“You’re a terrible employer, Nadir. You’re supposed to make me do my work, not give me time off.”

“I don’t want to overwork you! Especially if you’re tired.”

“The only way you could overwork me is if you asked me to scrub the entire house from top to bottom right now.” 

He grinned at her, his eyes wrinkling warmly. 

“None of that today, thankfully. Just the normal rounds. If you’d like to stay and help me bag up the food in the freezer, I’d appreciate that.” 

“Sure!” Her expression brightened as she jumped from her seat, rushing to dump the soggy cereal into the bin and clean the bowl. Spending the morning two floors away from him - from Erik - in Nadir’s company was definitely preferable to slowly going mad in her bedroom like yesterday. 

“Just let me grab my dirty clothes from upstairs. I’ll put a wash on.”

“Oh? Well, if you wouldn’t mind…” He hesitated, rubbing his thumb over his stubbly chin.

She paused, heart accelerating a little. 

“What?” She prayed it had nothing to do with the third floor. The last thing she wanted was to have to do the laundry of that terrifying man. 

“I feel so terrible asking. Would you mind grabbing mine from my room, too?” He smiled sheepishly.

She blew out a breath of relief.

“Not a problem, Nadir. And don’t feel bad. It’s my job.” She nodded, waiting for him to smile in response before darting upstairs. 

In her room, she gathered her items into a bundle and dropped them on the landing. Kisse got up from his regular snoozing spot on her bed and stretched to his entire (not very tall) height, then hopped down to chase at her ankles as she went into Nadir’s room. Pishi was sitting on the windowsill in there, and he immediately bristled as soon as he saw the kitten. 

“Kisse, you have to stay out here.” She lifted him a few inches from the floor and carried him back to her room. His tiny legs waved in the air and he meowed until she put him down. “Pishi doesn’t want little kitties to bug him.”

It took her two more attempts before he got the memo and simply sat on her dirty laundry, watching her disappear into Nadir’s room with his sparkling blue eyes. 

Pishi sniffed Christine’s hand and finally allowed her to stroke his battered face. She collected up Nadir’s items - giggling incessantly at a pair of underwear she imagined would be questionably tight - and gave the room a once over. She would have to nag him to dust more often, and open the windows. 

When she reached the landing, Kisse was no longer there. She deposited Nadir’s clothes with her own and glanced around her room, then into Nadir’s. He was nowhere to be seen. She even braved climbing up the steps to peep onto the third floor, but Bisou was sleeping on the top step and Kisse was terrified of his bulk. There was no way he was up there. 

“Have you seen Kisse down here?” Christine called to Nadir as she filled the washing machine.

“Hmm?” Nadir poked his head out of the fridge just as she came into the kitchen. “Your little kitty? I don’t think so.”

She felt a tug in her heart and swallowed thickly. Nadir saw the worry in her face and flashed her a quick grin.

“Hey, no need to worry; this is a big place. Shake a bag of his treats. He’ll come running, you’ll see.”

She nodded robotically and went to fetch them from the cupboard. After several minutes of shaking, she had a whole bunch of adults cats twining and meowing at her ankles, and several scratching on the glass sliding doors to come inside, but no Kisse. She fed them silently, her heart beginning to pound.

“He’ll turn up, Christine.” Nadir assured her, trying not to let his own worry show on his face. 

“I hope he hasn’t got out.” She said quietly. “He’s way too little to find his way back.”

“He’ll be fine.” He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “You know what cats are like. He’s probably sleeping in some strange crevice. Hah, he’s probably cat-atonic.” He winked.

She gave a small smile.

“Let’s get on with the freezer. I bet when he smells all the fish he won’t be able to resist.” Nadir nodded.

As the morning wore on and the day got hotter, there was still no sign of Kisse. Christine went from making idle small talk and politely laughing at Nadir’s wisecracks to completely silent, simply handing Nadir bag after bag whilst staring out of the glass doors. Her face had become paler as the hours ticked by, until finally Nadir addressed the subject again.

“Christine? What’s on your mind?” He asked, putting the final bag into the fridge and closing the door. 

She had chewed her lip until it was raw. When she turned to him, the sun made her pale skin contrast terribly to the dark circles under her eyes and the red of her sore lips. She was blinking quickly in an attempt to prevent the sheen of water gathered in her eyes from spilling down her cheeks. 

“Nadir?” She whispered. “What if he has him?” 

Nadir did not reply - partly out of shock that she would think that, and partly out of horror, realising that it wouldn’t be the most spiteful thing Erik had done. Looking at her, hunched over and broken, a girl who had travelled miles to a foreign country where she could barely communicate yet always had a sunny smile on her face, he felt a spark of rage that someone would treat her so badly. She had done nothing wrong. 

“He wouldn’t.” He tried to make it sound firm, but she could hear the waver in his tone. “He… he wouldn’t.” 

She nodded and said nothing more, turning to look out at the sea once more. Nadir swept his hand through his hair and tried taking a deep breath to compose himself.

“He wouldn’t, because he know I would kill him.” He breathed shakily. She looked at him in surprise. 

“Nadir…” 

“I’m so tired of him.” He grabbed a handful of his dark curls. “Christine, I’m sorry.”

“Why? There’s nothing you’ve done -”

“He likes to keep pets, Christine.” He nodded. “I think you gathered that from the cats.” 

She just stared at him, stunned by the anger that flushed his cheeks. 

“Not just the cats. Everything. Birds. Snakes.” He paused. “Spiders.”

She swallowed thickly. 

“He had two. Big ones. And when I went up last night, over the stupid book?” He sneered at the ceiling and laughed harshly. “One was missing.”

Her mouth fell open.

“What…? Did he put…?”

“I don’t know.” Nadir snapped. “But it’s not happening again. I won’t let it.”

“Nadir!”

He had already swept out of the room. She chased after him up the first flight of stairs, but when he barged up the second, she stayed on the landing, swaying from foot to foot and gripping her elbows. 

There was a commotion upstairs. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but from the voices it sounded like Nadir was doing most of the speaking. It was low, hissed - at least it wasn’t a full on row like yesterday. After a few minutes there were footsteps coming towards the stairwell she was standing near, and she squeaked and fled to her room. 

The door opened before she had reached the bathroom, but thankfully it was Nadir. His eyes were dark.

“Follow me.” He muttered. 

“Where are we going?” She whispered.

He paused in the doorway, holding onto the frame as he glanced over his shoulder at her. 

“Upstairs.”

And then he was gone.

Christine stood for several moments, her stomach turning over and over. The skin on her arms was prickled with goosebumps - she ran her clammy palms over them, and scolded herself for acting like such a wuss. She took a step forward to leave, paused, and went to her bedside table. The drawer creaked when she opened it; she retrieved the little tattered book that had caused so much trouble, and finally, she traipsed after Nadir. 

It took every fibre of her being not to react as she turned the corner of the stairwell and started up the last few steps. Nadir was standing in front of someone, a man taller than he, who had his back to her. Nadir looked over the man’s shoulder at Christine and nodded her over. The tall man did not move. She could see the black of his high-collared jacket, and his black pants. She was struck by his hair - an auburn colour, she could see strands of copper and fiery orange when the sun shone through it. At the back of his head was a thick brown strap. 

“Christine.” Nadir nodded as she approached. “This is Erik.”   
Erik had not yet moved. It looked like it was down to Christine to make this meeting. She cleared her throat, her grip tightening on the book.

“Bonjour, um, monsieur.” She said each word slowly and deliberately, praying she had the pronunciation correct. 

At the sound of her voice, he finally turned to regard her. Nadir watched her eyes widen as he did so, and groaned inwardly. Allah above, he thought. Give the poor girl strength. 

To her credit, other than the flicker of her eyes over him and a quiet squeak that left her throat out of surprise, she did not react too viscerally. There was hope after all. 

Christine had never seen anything like him. For a split second, she thought his face was made of porcelain - in the next moment, she realised it was a mask. It covered his entire face up to his ears, which were a strange yellow colour. There was a line that ran horizontally along the entire bottom of his ‘face’, bisecting the lips in half. One eyehole of the mask was covered in tinted glass, but underneath she could see the eye matched the golden light that made up his visible eye. His red hair was neatly combed back but sticking up in unruly tufts towards the ends of each lock, reminding Christine somewhat of a mad scientist. She would have smiled at the thought had she not noticed how he was looking at her; the warm colour of his irises did nothing to counteract the coldness of his glare. He laced his hands behind his back and stood, regarding her, his cat-like eyes travelling up and down her figure before settling on her face. And then he spoke. She had never known such a beautiful, rich timbre; powerful enough to rattle the frames on the walls with its might but right now quiet as he extended a stiff greeting to her, laced with malice that made any beauty in his voice violently shatter. 

“Enchanté.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would gladly appreciate any comments or encouragement you can give, it will force me to write more if I know someone out there is reading it!


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